


Detour

by prisonmechanic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Betrayal, DJD as a family, Dysfunctional Family, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Smut, kaon is your concerned dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonmechanic/pseuds/prisonmechanic
Summary: When Tarn suspects Deathsaurus plans on killing him, he decides to push aside his growing feelings and deal with the issue himself, all without raising the suspicions of his team who seem to think there's something else going on between the two of them.Written for Tarnsaurusweek2019CURRENTLY DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
Relationships: Deathsaurus/Tarn
Comments: 15
Kudos: 61





	1. Mask/Wings

**Author's Note:**

> slow going with my hand but we're here

It was Kaon that brought it up. 

"I don't like the way he touches you so casually," 

The words smacked Tarn in the face, and for a brief moment it was all he could do to blink dumbly at his subordinate. "Excuse me?"

“Deathsaurus,” Kaon clarified, attention returning to his console, as if unsure he should have brought it up to begin with, “He touches you too much. I donno, just makes me a little uncomfortable.” 

Tarn was taken aback, thankful that his mask hid exactly how much the observation had struck him. The need to defend himself arose, if not for the social implications, then for the concept and truth that Tarn hadn’t even noticed. He turned back to his own console, field even and plating still as ever. 

“You and Vos touch all the time. We are allies, If I don’t think showing an aversion to touch would be beneficial in showing respect or a show of strength,” He justified. And at least that reasoning sounded legitimate. 

Kaon made a face; something close to disgust,but with confusion mixed in. He sat back in his chair, turning to center his attention on Tarn, “Firstly, Vos and I are fragging. Which implies something between the two of you that I really don’t want to know about. Secondly, since when does Tarn, leader of the DJD and leader of the current Decepticon army, allows himself to be coerced into doing something he doesn’t want to.”

Tarn froze, Optics locks with the empty casing of Kaon’s optics. He forced his plating tp relax, sitting back in his seat, gazing over Kaon with a concerned interest. 

Mostly because he hadn’t known that Deatsaurus had been touching him that often to begin with. But if others were noticing, then there was a genuine problem. The familiarity could be seen as a weakness, on Deathsaurus himself would exploit, if he hadn’t already. And since when had Tarn become so unaware of his surroundings as to simply not notice when a potential enemy had started siding up to him. 

He would have to put a stop to it immediately. 

“I don’t fraternize with Mech’s on the list,” Tarn retorted, raisting his helm to exaggerate the glow of his optics behind his mask, “And how do you know I allow it for some sort of familiarity? Does a mech expect someone he allows at his side to stab him? Do you expect Vos to roll over in the middle of the recharge cycle?”

Kaon looked down and then away, and then back at his console. Tarn could see him vent, as if there was something more he longed to say, but couldn’t quite convince himself to say. He relented, shrugging half heartedly, “Alright. Point made. Just… Don’t do anything you don’t want to because you think you have to.”

“I never do,” Tarn turned back to his work, optics flicking curiously to his companion.

  
  


He stayed on guard into the next cycle that he was on shift. 

The war world commander had brought good news, approaching Tarn almost immediately while they were on shift. He strode confidently, meeting Tarn as he entered the command room. 

“A productive detour,” Deathsaurus beamed, all four optics alight, as if he was a cyberhound staring down caught prey. It was unsettling, and made Tarn concerned almost as fast as the commander had sought him out. 

“A productive… detour. That’s an oxymoron,’ he retorted. Deathsaurus’ four optics gave no indication that he even knew what he had meant by that. But it didn’t seem to phase the war lord at all. Instead, he seemed to take it as a challenge, spurring him on further. 

“I understand that Megatron is our main objective. But, we’re passing through a familiar star system and I know for a fact there is a mech on your list that was last seen here,” Deathsaurus chimed, motioning for Tarn to follow him towards the starmap displaying on their main screen. His optics had dimmed, lulling down with the rest of his expression. But the excitement was still there, just bellow the mechs surface.

The kind of excitement that only mechs like them experienced. Deathsaurus was hunting. And it was that thrill of the hunt had infected him. But who was his prey? This mech on the list? 

Or Tarn himself?

Tarn followed him anyways, making his way around the upper platform of the deck and down to the lower level. They stood side by side, gazing up at the main screen, optics scanning their new proposed route. It didn’t stray too far from their next objective, and the proposed planet was on a planet that Tarn recognized from an established supply route. The could restock and investigate. 

It was almost too perfect. 

“A vorn at most,” Deathsaurus piped up, “We would have to organize inventory to see what we have, but there are some supplies that we can pick up there as well. So, if we don’t find exactly who you are looking for, the trip wouldn’t be wasted anyways.”

The convenience seemed all too ideal, only increasing Tarn’s suspicion. 

“And how, exactly do you have access to the List?” He asked.

“Please. The Peaceful Tyranny has been docked in our loading bay for orn now. You can’t tell me that you haven’t been snooping into our files at any opportunity,” The beat former beamed, as if proud at the blatant invasion of privacy. 

How could this not look like a trap?

“No,” Tarn snorted, closing his optics in exasperation, “No. I haven’t. Doing so implies I wouldn’t trust your intentions with this alliance.”

Deathsaurus silenced. 

Good. Let the fragger see how flawed this obvious assaasination attempt was. He has seen this behaviour before; this overly touchy, overly helpful attitude. But in doing so, Deathsaurus had exposed a misstep, solid proof Tarn needed to question his loalty. 

It was Starscream all over again. Well, Starscream in his early phases. Still not honed in the art of assasination-- but if Deathsaurus was Starscream, then that made Tarn, Megatron. The revelation made Tarn’s tanks roll.

He wouldn’t let Deathsaurus get that far, no way. He’d kill him before he even got the chance. 

But wouldn’t that ruin any sort of alliance? And along with it, any chance of reaching Megatron? Then it simply would have to look like an accident. 

It was the soft touch on his lower back that drew his attention back to the star map above them, and consequently,the root of his problem. Tarn opened his optics, meeting all four of Deathsaurus’. He looked earnest, even as a new shadow covered them both. 

He winked.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to rectify that,” Deathsaurus didn’t loose that hungry tone to his vocalizer. 

Tarn’s gaze shifted towards the source of the shadow; a mechanical wing. Deathsaurus was beautifully feathered, each one straight and proud, almost doubling his size, which was impressive in of itself. And he had wrapped one of them around Tarn, not touching, but shielding them. It felt private; intimate. Like they were in a private room, and Deathsaurus had him trapped. 

But not trapped. No. Because it only would take one step to move away from the lax servo on his back, and the wing around them both. If this was a private room, just the two of them. Then Tarn was stood in the doorway, caught between running from a possible traitor and swaying right into his arms. 

Only a step. Only one step and he would be out of Deathsaurus’ reach. 

Tarn didn’t move. 

His spark whirled madly in it’s casing, as if Tarn was humming to himself, vibrating his spark. Any sort of reason was gone from him, frame focused on one thing only; how this beastformer looked wrapped around him, optics wild from some sort of thrill of the hunt, and servo casually tucked on his lower spinal strut. 

Tarn was the prey. 

**_Tarn_** was the prey. 

Tarn was the **_prey_ ** _._

No matter how he phrased the realization, it still felt unnatural. Tarn was not _prey._ That too, was an oxymoron. But Deatsaurus hadn’t understood that concept pertaining to detours, then he likely didn’t understand this one. He was a beast, he simply understood hunting, and somehow he had locked his sights on Tarn. 

It felt cruel. 

That vibration in Tarn’s spark tightened into a construction. Here Tarn was, admiring the Beastformer before him and that mech could do nothing but hunt him. 

Tarn frowned, not that Deathsaurus would even notice. He was unreadable, his mask made sure of that as much as the offending wing had hid Deathsaurus’ wink. 

“Fine,” Tarn relented, “Fine. run me through exactly what plan you’ve drummed up.”

The wing retreated, and Deathsaurus looked back towards the starmap, already rambling on fuel prices in the area, and where exactly the traitor they were looking for was hiding. 

Tarn half listened, optics instead wandering around the command deck. The met Vos’, who had been stationed among some of high command. Their gaze held for a moment, before Vos turned away, apparently content with what he had seen. 

Tarn was already regretting agreeing to this mission. 


	2. Music/history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deathsaurus is trying so so hard. please. Tell him this isn't working. 
> 
> some non-conseting touching at the end here. Not inappropriate. Not really a warning. Tarn just steals a cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually on time today haha
> 
> i wrote this instead of an essay on internet sovereignty.

Music/ History

The planet they landed on was too alive for Tarns liking. Back on Delphi, there was only their base, and Pharma's little clinic. Well, and a few cities, but nothing so… Alive as this. The cities never encroached on Tarn's personal space or beaconed him into the nightlife. No, most mechs had half a mind to stay a good ten feet away from Tarn, or out of audio range if they were really smart. 

But some organic brushed along Tarns back, oblivious to who exactly he so casually bumped against. It made Tarn bristle, and if it wasn't for his companion, then he would have shot the offender where he stood. 

The market town they had found themselves in was too busy, and it was hard to believe that this was once a Decepticon Outpost. Or more specifically an energon mine and storage facility. The report explained that when the Energon had dried up, the facility had mostly been written off, leaving a way for organics to enter said mines, pulling precious metals from their old shafts. It was that abandonment that let said planet prosper as a trading outpost. 

Tarn knew there was irony somewhere in that, but was too focused trying to avoid said organics to actually piece it together. 

Deathsaurus strode casually beside him, carrying himself with the same casual confidence he never seemed to waver from unless angry. His optics roamed, looking between the booths in the market they had found themselves in. But between his own examinations, his optics-- usually only two of them, wandered to Tarn. He had caught him staring at him a few times now despite their still silence. But, Tarn allowed it all; the cramped, loud streets, Deathsaurus' awkward glances and any little inconvenience. For, and only because it meant Deathsaurus wouldn't kill him. It was too public here. His team would exact revenge immediately-- he wouldn't even make it back to their ship before the massacre was over. 

Tarn was stopped suddenly, his companion having grabbed his wrist, stopping them in the streets. He bristled again as another organic skimmed against his plating. 

"What?" Tarn snapped, whirling around to meet all of Deathsaurus' optics this time. 

The beast former paused, taken aback by the sudden hostility, but that didn't seem to stop him. 

"The ship is going to take a while to refuel," Deathsaurus' optics brightened, returning that predatory aspect to his gaze, "And we both know once we find this mech it won't take you long at all to finish your business. So, how about a detour?" He raised a servo, pointing to a lit-up sign above them. 

**Theatre: PERFORMANCES EVERY JOUR (galactic standard Time)**

Tarn got the feeling that this was somehow planned. 

This was it. In the dark of some backwater theatre, Deathsaurus was going to slip a knife into his back. It would be quiet and out of sight, the perfect place. He could even blame it on the mech that they were hunting. But Tarn was onto him. There was no way he would let himself fall victim like this. 

He had pinned Deathsaurus as a more straightforward mech. But, so had Starscream been in the beginning. 

The building itself appeared to be some sort of processing facility at some point. The smokestacks were still visible running along the back of the building. At some point, it must have been refurbished in the interior, making way for a stage and some elevated seating. 

Tarn nodded. "Alright. If you believe we have time." 

Deathsaurus beamed. 

He lead Tarn towards the half crumbling building. Tarn could already discern that the acoustics would be atrocious. Even as they entered, the organic at the ticket booth looked like it was about to kill itself out of boredom, which, if the appearance of this place was anything to go by, would be much more entertaining to watch. Well, at least then he wouldn't have to kill his ally in a drab nowhere theatre. At the very least, Deathsaurus offered to pay like a gentlemech, even if credits were no object for either of them really anymore. 

It was a far cry from the beautiful architecture of Vos' spired theatres. Or Iacons gold-gilded balconies. Or even Kaon's upper class viewing parties. 

"Do you like musicals?" Deathsaurus asked as they entered, "I know you like to  _ sing _ but…" 

"I do,"  _ just not mediocre ones performed by organics,  _ "I used to watch them frequently when given the chance."  _ Before I was Tarn.  _

Deathsaurus beamed, leading him still into the seating. He flared his wings, seeming to judge the room around him before sharply turning down a row of seats. 

"Here. Should sound best around here somewhere." Deathsaurus decided, flopping down into the old seating. It creaked ominously but held under his weight. 

When Tarn gave a quizzical look, Deathsaurus took it as an invitation to explain.

"I do have  _ wings.  _ For flying, like seekers. So they're sensitive to things like airflow and pressure, hence, the perfect spot."

Tarn blinked dumbly but sat his aft beside Deathsaurus. The cushion didn't compress, years of overuse rendering it flat. It would be uncomfortable likely halfway through the performance, but one of them would be dead by them, so Tarn decided it didn't matter. The theatre was practically empty anyway. It didn't matter. Deathsaurus probably only picked this spot because it was secluded and near the back-- perfect for a discreet assassination attempt.

Tarn shifted his pede, coming into something  _ sticky _ and squirmed in his seat. He reminded himself that this would only last so long; at least until Deathsaurus showed his true intention and a fight between the two of them truly broke out. 

The lights dimmed, and the play began. 

To the organics' credit, their harmonies weren't atrocious. In fact, perhaps though mediocre, the entire experience brought him back to a time before he was Tarn. Damus had not been such a snob. He had snuck into any and all performances that he could. Damus, Glitch, they would have loved this. An organic performance? Simply a chance to see something he never had before. A new culture. New stories. 

But Tarn could tell their tenner was more suited to a soprano role. And that the love story had obvious glaring holes. How could the main lead not see that the other lead was simply vying for his attention? Mechs, or in this case squid-like organics were simply not that oblivious in reality. Half of the plot was contrived, and that one soprano could only just barely hit some of those higher notes… 

When the lights rose again for an intermission, Tarn found himself coming out of a daze. Though he had kept every sensor in his frame attuned to the mech beside him, the play allowed his processor wander; away from the imminent fight, or the poor padding of their seats, or the sticky residue on his pede. 

Tarn realized, with no calm revelation, that he had  _ relaxed. _

He stood immediately, ready to question. The mech beside him. Shouldn't Deathsaurus have made his move by now? The darkness of the first act would have made for the perfect cover? Why was he stalling? 

But when Tarn turned around, he found Deathsaurus completely prone. 

He had fallen into recharge. 

The beast former never ceased to surprise him. Tarn closed his intake, every question and concern swallowed back to where it had come from. He took a vent, gazing at the few other organisms standing and stretching while they waited for the lights to dim once more. 

This was an opportunity. He could dispatch Deathsaurus here and now, and the mech wouldn't even put up a fight. All Tarn had to do was whisper to his spark and it would be over quickly and quietly. It would be so easy. 

Tarn looked over the mech, only noticing now how one of his arms had draped itself over the back of Tarns chair, in a mock embrace. Tarn hadn't even realized they had been that close. A cursory glance over the seat revealed no knife in his servo either. His wings draped awkwardly behind them as well, like some sort of shield, protecting them both from behind. 

Tarn sat back down, shuttering his optics. He was weak. This was a weakness. One Deathsaurus would exploit if he ever knew about. But Deathsaurus was unaware at the moment. 

Tarn indulged his spark-- that familiar longing feeling that tugged at him when his commander was close like this. He leaned into Deathsaurus, awkwardly leaning over the armrest between them. His helm came to rest on a firm shoulder. He was warm, and somehow comfier than the seating itself. Deathsaurus would never know though, and so Tarn would have to be extremely careful to never let him know. 

His spark settled in his chassis. That longing-- the one that kept him up the last few night cycles, it calmed. 

Tarn opened his optics just in time for the lights to dim, and the curtains to reopen once more. This time, he didn't think about vocal pitch or plot holes. Instead, he watched, enjoying the warmth of a frame pressed against his own. 


	3. Mercy/ Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunting begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have been on intoxicants the last 48 hours so i'm catching up

Tarn removed himself from Deathsaurus' side during the final musical number. Though hesitant. He recognized he couldn't stay forever in the grasp of a mech planning on killing him. His side felt cold in the absence of another frame, and it was that chill that he focused on as the play came to a close. 

When the curtains closed for a final time And the lights rose once more, Tarn stood, gently tapping his companion, rousing him from whatever reflux he had been in. 

His vocalizer was groggy, by his optics lit up almost immediately, "Did you enjoy it?"

Tarn nodded, allowing Deathsaurus to grip a tire track as he rose for balance. "It was primitive. But acceptable." 

"Why does that feel like a compliment coming from you?" Deathsaurus smiled, wide and predatory. The kind of menacing grin of someone pleased with themselves after ensnaring a target within their web. 

It woke Tarn up, spark constricting with the idea that maybe Tarn getting affectionate had been the point of this all after all. Compliant, and willing; like prey giving itself up for slaughter. 

But Deathsaurus couldn't possibly known the comfort that Tarn had stolen. The mech was deep in recharge, vents even and both sets of optics online. There was no way a predator could lay in wait that convincingly, could he? Even Tarn knew his own tells, not that the DJD was stealth based. But, his seams twitched with the need to transform, or his lines burned for the next nuke dose-- there were ways to tell when Tarn was hunting, obvious, blatant signs that weren't easy to miss. 

Deathsaurus just had that damned predatory aura. It made him insufferably hard to read. 

"It is. Now let's go, I'd like to get this done before Lyozak finished with the supply run." 

\--

It wasn't hard to find the traitor, a mech by the name Lambast. Tarn couldn't remember exactly what he was on the list for as Kaon usually took care of most of the book keeping, but he knew it was something and that was enough for Tarn. He didn't question it. 

The mech had opened a warehouse here, a profitable little business that had kept him comfortable while abandoning his duty. It was an easy target-- one that only really demanded one members attention at any given point but that they all would have enjoyed tearing the mech apart slowly. 

He didn't know how Deathsaurus would respond to his personal brand of cruelty-- maybe it would be enough to deter him from his assaination attempts. 

Tarn would have to make this good. 

"Wow. Kinda a nice set up he has here," Deathsaurus remarked, gazing around with an idle sway of his wings. 

The organics that worked under him didn't know who he was as he entered, and paid them no mind as they seemed like the mess usual clientele. Much like the city around it, it was old, barely held together and swarming with tenticled organic life. 

"For a traitor," Tarn remarked, "It seems foolish to put this much effort into anything when death itself is coming for you. It would have been more productive to lay down in the dirt and rust away." 

"Ouch," Deathsaurus chuckled, though Tarn could sense a slight awkwardness to it, "As some mech on said list, I can confirm it isn't a waste of time." 

Deathsaurus didn't stop, entering the building and spreading his wings wide-- a gesture Tarn knew now was a combined intimidation and sensory motion. He didn't exactly appreciate being treated like the sidekick for this mission either. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not as if we know exactly where we are on the list. It could be a life time before I ever saw a Decepticon symbol ever again. And I had mechs to take care of in the meantime." His companion explained. He offered a shrug. 

Tarn had to admit, he did have a point, "It's not the same. You had a war world at your disposal-- you had a chance. A warehouse full of junk isn't an effective defense."

Not that Tarn would have gone after Deathsaurus after their treaty. Or well, he wouldn't have if Deathsaurus wasn't trying to kill him as well. 

Who was going to wrap an arm around his waist now? 

He came up Deathsaurus' side, brushing his right wing out of the way as he looked over the warehouse. He reached out, grabbing for one of the workers and twisting it to face him. He let out a dangerous Rev of his engine that even an organic would understand as a threat. The relatively small organic stared at him, frozen in place for the moment. 

“Lambast,” was all Tarn had to say and the Organic pointed towards the back of the warehouse. 

“He’s running,” Deathsaurus said, leaping forward. Tarn turned his helm just fast enough to catch a teal mech dash between merchandise, Deathsaurus transforming mid leap and taking after him. 

Tarn followed just as quickly, clambering to follow Deatsaurus’ tail as they dashed around a shelving unit. This at the very least was familiar territory. Tarn felt less like prey, and more like a predator, even if this was temporary. 

Deathsaurus' beast form was efficient as a hunting machine. Large sensory wings, powerful legs and an ease around gore made him quite the hunter. Faster than Tarn, he pounced, landing on the traitor and sliding across the warehouse floor, tumbling forward. The two of them tangled together, but the beast former was quick to regain his balance. Their wrestle ended with him on top, pinning Lambast easily beneath his mass. 

Tarn froze. This was his chance. 

Deathsaurus had the mech pinned, but it left his entire back open. In fact, if Tarn lined up his shot properly, he could probably kill them both with one fuel cell. He approached slowly, self preservation whispering in his audial to just get it over with. Once it was done, it would be over. No more worrying when that knife would enter his back. He wouldn't feel like there was betrayal around every corner. He could relax. 

But he had relaxed. More specifically he had relaxed into Deathsaurus' side. 

Which felt like it should complicate things. 

But facts were facts, and the fact of the matter was  _ he  _ was not Megatron. And so he would not let his second in command become another Starscream. He had made his decision when he found out what Deathsaurus was likely planning, and he wasn’t going to allow this entire situation to fester. 

Tarn came up the side of Deathsaurus' frame, coming to a stop beside both of their helms. He raised his fusion cannon, rolled his shoulders back and placed his fusion cannon on the back of the beasts helm with a soft  _ tink _ . 

And so the predator becomes the prey. It should have felt like a victory, but it didn’t.

"Tarn," Deathsaurus' vocalizer dropped into a low grumble, "What are you doing? " 


	4. Beauty/ War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk it out boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to do school projects but instead I'm doing this haha

“Tarn… what are you doing?”

“You don’t think i didn't know what you were doing? Getting me all alone out here.” Tarn nudged the underside up against Deathsaurus’ chin as he couches beside the mech. At last that predatory disposition was gone, replaced with a steady glare. 

"What?" The beast looked confused, helm tilted away from the fusion cannon and beak held open as if about to ask more. 

"I've seen treacherous second in commands before. And though I couldn't do anything about Starscream's assassination fetish, I can stop you before you start yours," Tarn hummed, tapping Deathsaurus' chin again for the effect of it, "Cleaver. Convincing me to stumble out here alone with you, and blame Lambast for my murder, well it won't be hard to take your plan on as my own." 

Though Tarn spoke confidently, his spark wasn't into it. 

Tarn knew he was a sadist, it was what made him so effective at his job. It let him revel in the fear and turmoil in another field and actions. He took pleasure in it, converting suffering into red hot pleasure in his lines. But he was cold. There was no welcome splash of excitement in Deathsaurus' confusion.

Instead, a longing replaced it. 

That exact same longing that left when his second in command grabbed his waist, or shield them with the expense of a wing. That same mech, who dared to try and take that longing and use it against him. How dare he take that well culture familiarity and simply manipulate him here.

"What? You thought you could get rid of me, maybe buy yourself some more time off of the list? Or perhaps " 

"Tarn," Deathsaurus worked his jaw, every plate on his frame tense, "You've got it all wrong. Please. Let me explain--"

“Excuse me?” 

Tarn’s attention snapped to LAmbast beneath them. Tanr growled at him and the mech shut his intake immediately. 

“You’re Beautiful,”

Tarn’s spark ceased, attention back on Deathsaurus. That pulsing and constriction that had been torturing him for the last orn stopped, held still at its tightest point. It hurt. It sent a physical burn down his lines replacing the empty chill of his determined facade. 

When he didn’t respond Deathsaurus tried to explain. 

“I thought you were beautiful. We worked so well together, and occasionally I caught you lean in. And then you weren’t repulsed when I touched you. I thought you were just shy...” His optical ridges deepened, as if just now realizing what logical leaps Tarn had made, “You thought i was trying to kill you?”

Tarn froze, arm going lip to the point that his canon lowered. His second in command leaned back and in a swift motion transformed back into his mech form. With normal faceplates, he could see just how disgusted and confused that he was. 

“You brought me out here alone, pulled me into a dark, secluded place--”

“Yes!” Deathsaurus yelled now, “Because this was a date! I brought you to the theater on a date!”

_ A date. Deathsaurus was genuinely trying to court him.  _

That explained the touching, the market, the theater…

“This-- you wanted to hunt a mech down as a date!?” Tarn yelled right back. Anger was so much easier than guilt. It was so much easier than the realization Deathsaurus had genuinely been trying to achieve the gift of his attention. And consequently, Tarn had absolutely ruined that chance trying to control the mech. 

“You would have refused me had I not made this productive! I have been pulling you close and preening around you for orn! And imagine my surprise you said yes to a date and then try to kill me!”

“I thought you brought me out here to kill me! What was I to think?! That you just… liked me!?” Tarn’s vents started to heave, emotional distress becoming more and more physical as the realizations sunk into him. 

_ He had a chance, a chance to curl into deathsaurus’s side while he was awake, and he threw it away trying to not become Megatron.  _

“Yes! Because I did!” Deathsaurus matched his tone, plating flaring. It read like he was about to pounce, this time on Tarn. 

Anger was so much easier. 

“You expect me to believe that?!” Tarn stood, flaring his field and plating in an attempt to match Deathsaurus’ own. He rose his cannon again, aiming directly for his companion’s helm. He would not be tricked, he would not risk it all, he was the leader of the Decepticons--

Deathsaurus rose as well. 

“Do it, Start a war. Make it personal,” Deathsaurus spread his wings, looming above Tarn, “Use your voice. Pull that trigger.”

Tarn couldn’t do it. Deathsuaurus wasn’t guilty, he knew that. Still he held his fusion cannon up, servo as steady as ever. Still, He couldn’t do it. 

Deathsaurus’s optic shifted, and very suddenly his plating sagged, “Frag, Lambast is gone.”

Tarn looked down, optics shooting to where they had left the mech on the floor. It was empty. 

Frag, indeed. 


End file.
